Chat With Ducks the trilogy DM, DJ
by Rodlox
Summary: The trilogy: 1. Ryland has a little chat with Diana. 2. Diana and Jordan have a chat. 3. Diana talks with Marco about genetic diseases and Jordan Collier.


Title:What Ryland asks...

Author:Rodlox.

Summary:Ryland has a little chat with Diana.

Rating:K+ or T

Note:this is my 20th 4400 fanfic.

Prequel to:"Chat, with Ducks"

Spoilers:the Pilot.

Pairing:mild Jordan/Diana.

Author's notes:this takes place during the Pilot episode, just between where Diana sees the 4400 appear, and when Ryland introduces her to Tom.

He's seated behind a desk. "You wanted to see me?" I ask, standing in the doorway of this office. This isn't Ryland's office, so why did he ask me to meet him here?

"Nice of you to come out of that dark office," Ryland says. "You're moving -- to this one," one hand coming to rest on the desk. I'm being transferred out of the theory room? "You're my best field scientist, and I figure its about time for you to go back in the field." And he moves that resting hand to the top of his computer monitor. "Unless you would like to tell me otherwise."

'Tell you what?' sounds as though I've got secrets. Nobody has secrets from Ryland. "What's there to say?" I ask.

He turns the monitor. There on the screen is a picture identical to the one my father's got framed in the reading room: me and Jordan Collier several years ago when we were out on a stroll through the park. "That refresh your memory at all?" Ryland asks.

"We dated," I say, confirming it. There's nothing to deny. Jordan and I broke up over a year ago. I still remember him asking me to accompany him on a spiritual retreat. I turned him down, figuring our relationship was beyond what saving a trek through mountains could grant us. Jordan left, and nobody'd heard from him since.

"And?" Ryland asks. And what? I focus my attention on the picture, on the fact we're both wearing turtlenecks in it. After that photo was printed, I was a one-day wonder in the newspapers and magazines. His PR people never bothered to correct the public misperception, that I was nothing more than Jordan's nurse. The only place the rumor mill stuck to the story for more than a week was in my hometown. Outside of there, everyone leaped on the next new thing to hit the headlines.

And if anyone could dig up that picture of me, it'd be Ryland. "And?" Ryland asks.

'And' what? "If you're going to accuse me," since Ryland never 'tries to' do anything, "please, just get it over with."

A wry look on his face. Was that a hint of a smile? He hits a key, and the monitor's image changes, becoming a video image...down in quarantine, by the looks of it, all those people, and -- Wait a minute. I squint, leaning closer. "Take your time," Ryland tells me. Thank you (so much).

Jordan. He's in the quarantine with all the people who were... Jordan was with them the whole time?

"So," Ryland says. "You really didn't see him when you were out there, helping sort people out?"

"I didn't see him at the lake," I say. And, to avoid any unspoken suspicions or implications, "And I didn't see him after that, either."

"How'd you do that?"

"I was helping guide the -- returnees to the buses," that brought them here to quarantine, "but one of the returnees asked me where we were."

Ryland checks my report. "One Maya Rutledge. According to this, she was a little more specific, wanted to know which lake she'd wound up at."

I nod. "And when I told her, she asked what state we were in."

When Ryland nods, his face looks satisfied. He's heard enough? My old boss, back at the CDC, would've demanded a lot more detail than that. But I've worked with Ryland enough to know that he always knows just how much to ask for at any time. He's got a plan, of that I can be sure. "Don't worry," Ryland assures me; "this'll stay between us."

I nod, grateful. (The very last thing I want to be accused of is pretty much what people will claim if my relationship with a returnee comes out).

"So," I ask, "who's this new guy you're going to partner me up with?" Why else would I get an office?

Ryland just smiled. Uh-oh. "I'll introduce you to him later." I don't even get to know the guy's name? "Gotta go," and heads out of my office.

"Later," I say, taking my seat in _my _chair.

the end.

Title:"Chat, with Ducks."

Author:Rodlox.

Summary:Diana and Jordan have a chat.

Note:this is my 18th 4400 fanfic.

Rating:K+ or T

Takes place during the six months that Lily and Richard were on the lam, prior to the birth of the baby.

Spoilers:White Light.

Dedicated to:Geonn Cannon, who gave blessed this story.

Diana Skouris noted the unobtrusively-placed security men who were pretty well out of earshot of the bridge. 'Privately' clearly meant exactly that. "I'm here," she said to Jordan, now that they were both here.

It had been, she admitted only to herself, an act of secrecy worthy of his most cautious back when they'd been dating. A postcard had been placed in an envelope that'd been placed in her apartment mailbox; on the back of the postcard was a message written in Greek letters -- not Greek words, she wasn't fluent and he knew that. Read phonetically, the message told her that he requested the honor of a private meeting, just the two of them, on a bridge over a corner of the lake at a local park frequented by picnic(k)ers.

"Thank you," he said, leaning on his forearms as he held a slice of bread that he was using to feed the finger-sized fish and ducks that inhabited this lake. At one elbow was the grocery bag of sliced bread. "Its nice here, isn't it?"

"Lovely."

"I'm thinking about having a pond put in each of my housing projects. What do you think?"

"What exactly is it you want, Jordan?" Diana asks.

He gives a half-shrug. "It's been a while, Diana. Maybe I simply thought you'd like to feed the ducks with me," tossing properly-small bits of bread to the waterfowl.

"Pleasant as this is," Diana said, taking another slice of bread, "I doubt its the whole story."

Jordan's quiet a while longer, then starts a nod. "Since you mention it, there is a matter which's crossed my desk."

Diana gives a quiet chuckle, victory at hand. "Here it comes."

"I give all my employees the option of a medical exam free of charge. But I don't have access to all of my fellow returnees. Hence any results are their nature inconclusive."

"And you need my help."

"I would like your assistance, Diana."

She heard the difference between the two sentances. "I'm not saying I'm going to look into it, but I'll admit to being curious what could stump you."

"Its a community matter," Jordan said. "I need your word that you'll not breathe of it to anyone else."

"More cloak-and-daggger business," she said dismissively. "In that case -"

"Community, not boardroom," he interupted as politely as he could. "I was wondering what percentage of the returnee community possess the gene for sickle-cell anemia."

Diana frowns. "What brought this on?"

"Sickle-cell's an asset, but its also an achilles heel."

She nods. "Depending upon how many copies of the gene a person carries." And the conversation dies there. They feed the ducks a while longer, and then turn to go their separate ways.

He doesn't ask her if she'll look into it, if she's really honestly going to investigate it. He knows her curiosity. Knows how her mind works.

She doesn't ask if he wants to know the answer, if he's going to owe her a favor for this little chat. She knows him. Knows how he thinks.

"Later," she says, walking off, striding past his security.

"I do believe we'll see each other again," he says more to himself as he watches her leave.

the end.

Title:Markers.

Author:Rodlox.

Summary:Diana talks with Marco about genetic diseases and Jordan Collier.

Diana's POV.

rating:K+ or T

this is my 20th fic.

Coda to:'Chat, with ducks'.

Spoilers:White Light.

pairing:Diana/Marco, Diana/Jordan.

Author's notes:_FOP _is real.

No sooner do I take my usual chair in the Theory Room, than Marco hands me a framed photograph. It's of him and a man about his age, though the arms seem angled rather painfully, and the neck's a little bent. "That's my cousin," Marco tells me. "Eamon Pacella." He makes no effort to take back the picture. "Diana, have you ever heard of _FOP_?"

"No," I answer. I never did like acronyms. "What's it stand for?"

"Fibrodysplasia ossificans progressiva. In most people, when they get hurt and their body repairs them, their body uses normal tissue. In Eamon, his body uses bone." He takes a breath, but continues before I can ask anything. "I did the check for sickle-cell, like you asked; fifteen percent of the returnees have it. On a hunch, I ran a search for other mutations in the human body."

"But the 4400 are physically normal," I say. "There's nothing in them that isn't in the rest of the global population."

"Exactly. Eamon's not a returnee. When we checked the 4400 for physical differences, we only found mutations that already existed. Like the two percent of returnees who have _FOP _." He looks right at me. "Its not that common. There should be one percent, or less, who have it."

"But the 4400 were taken from a period of sixty years."

"It shouldn't matter if they were taking people from a full century."

"It's that rare?"

"When it's active at all." Mostly recessive, I take it.

I remember what Tom said Kyle-not-Kyle told him about the future, that the 4400 were taken to help them. Help i them /i in the future? How do genetic mutations help? What is this future Earth like that ossified bodies are a good thing? "So if we can figure out what the mutation statistics are, then we might be able to take a guess as to the state of things in the future," I hazard a guess. And find out what other genetic ailments might be common among the 4400.

"Its certainly possible."

Hmm... "Any other statistical anomalies on this front?"

"Aside from ten percent of the returnees being chimeras, nothing." Chimeras? Each person in that ten percent has two distinct genetic codes? If mankind's dying out, I can see how chimeras might be a blessing. But if our friends from the future are intent on blessing our time so we avert the catastrophe, why'd they return so many people with FOP? With maniacs like Knox, we know he was taken and returned so the ripples would ultimately benefit the other four thousand three hundred and ninety-nine returnees. But what ripples were our friends intending with people whose skeletons imprison themselves? Speaking of which..."Marco?"

"Yeah?" he asks me.

"Why didn't you just say that?"

"I thought I did."

I give a little smile, mirth(?). "I mean why didn't you _only_ say that? Why did you hand me your cousin's picture?" which I'm still holding. Not that I'm complaining, as I can see your good looks are clearly genetic, running through your family with great frequency; but you're enough for me. But if you didn't have to, then is that signifigant? Knowing you, Marco, it is. Casual, maybe subconcious, but definately signifigant.

"Eamon's why I searched for what I did after seeing the sickle cell results." You were curious about if any of the returnees had it, and you built on what you found. Makes sense. "Speaking of which, just...wondering, Skouris," he says, "what gave you the idea to check for genetic diseases?"

I look at Marco. I couldn't lie to him; I can't. "Jordan Collier."

Now he's confused. "Collier the returnee?" I nod, and he taps a few keys. "No, nothing scheduled. No sessions, no requests to sit him down for a chat about anything..." and Marco looks back at me. Just looks, though there's a question in those eyes. I can feel it. He's wondering if there's something I haven't said about Jordan, something that would explain things better to him.

I'll do my best to help, Marco. "I went to talk to him," I say, "off the record. He had some information, though he wasn't willing to say which returnee was his source of the information." Now Marco nods. I nod back, yes, "The question about sickle-cell."

"And if he's wondering how common it is amongst the returnees, then that suggests certain possibilities. It might be a matter of paternity, or an unidentified blood sample left behind..." trailing off. Hard as it is for me to imagine that Marco didn't know where he was going with that sentance, I have to admit the possibility, however remote it may be. Maybe he let it hang because he doesn't believe I could have something to do with someone who's done something that would leave behind blood. "Or Collier might just be planning to build one of those gated communities in an area rife with malaria."

"Somehow I doubt he'd do anything like that."

'Somehow'? I can see Marco asking himself the same thing I am right this instant: why'd I say 'somehow'? "I know it's none of my business, Skouris," lapsing back to using my surname. Owch. "But are you and he...?" and he can't bring himself to say - what? I don't think Marco'd have trouble saying 'dating'. 'Sleeping together,' is that the question you can't bring yourself to ask? You have nothing to worry about, Marco. Really.

"I used to date Jordan, that's all," I assure him. "We broke up a few months before he...at the time, I thought he'd just disappeared, maybe gone on a spiritual retreat like he'd said he might."

"And now?" looking and sounding like he's hovering between calling me_ 'Skouris' _and breathing_ 'Diana' _in my ear.

"I've since moved on." He's behind me now. Simple as that.

the end.


End file.
